


Icing on the Cake

by Thette



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Baking, Cooking, Domestic, Emotional Constipation, Emotionally Repressed, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grumpy Old Men, M/M, Passive-aggression, Self-Harm, Silence, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 19:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15250830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thette/pseuds/Thette
Summary: When the boss was in a mood, he was insufferable. He practically invented the cold shoulder treatment, and Mick had been on the receiving end for days now.Written for the domestic Coldwave prompt: "Len is pissed off with Mick. Mick appeases him by baking his favourite treats..."





	Icing on the Cake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SophiaCatherine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaCatherine/gifts).



> This is for the lovely SophiaCatherine, on her birthday. Happy birthday, Sophia! She also supplied the prompt. Betaed by Hiver_Frost_Elf.
> 
> I have no idea what kind of relationship they're in. They say they're partners, and that's all those grumpy old men have been willing to divulge to the author. This story can be read as romantic/sexual relationship, platonic friendship or queerplatonic relationship. Hence the double & and / tagging.
> 
> Takes place at an unspecified time between Revenge of the Rogues (TF 1x10) and Family of Rogues (TF 2x03).
> 
> The self harm in this story is minor (inducing pain through old injuries), and only present in a single paragraph. (The one that starts with _"Fine," Mick grunted_.)

When the boss was in a mood, he was insufferable. He practically invented the cold shoulder treatment, and Mick had been on the receiving end for days now.

Yeah, Mick had set a few police cars on fire. He didn't regret that. The pigs deserved it. It wasn't like there was anybody in those cars anyway, and it helped them get away. Not that the boss understood the finer details of getaway driving. He was a shit driver. Nobody hurt, fifty grand in their pockets, and a beautiful gasoline fire to watch.

That might be the problem. Mick had stayed and watched the fire, just to make sure it took hold properly. It didn't delay them, and if it gave Mick a nice little memory to warm him during the cold winter nights, what's it to the boss anyway? He flicked his lighter, on and off, on and off. On, for just a little longer, letting it heat up, watching that red-yellow-blue-white dance.

"Mick," said the boss, sharply, spitting the m and biting the k. First thing he said today.

"Fine," Mick grunted, putting the lighter away. He rubbed the sensitive edge of his scars, between the glove and the sleeve of his undershirt. Pinched a bit, put some more pressure on, really feeling how much pain he could cause with his own fingers. This shitty silence in this shitty warehouse in the middle of nowhere was driving him crazy, making the itch that always burned under his skin even worse. The itch to get up, get away, do something, anything. Burn something. Fuck this. And fuck him.

Mick got up from the faded orange, moth eaten sofa. He shrugged on his thick, green winter jacket, and picked up a nerdy earflap hat and his reading glasses. There. Nothing that screamed "Heatwave, Central City's Most Wanted Criminal." More like "Rural Dork Dad," even with the army surplus khaki trousers and the fireman's boots. He left. Boss didn't even acknowledge him.

He drove their stolen beige ‘77 Volvo to the closest 24 hour megamarket. The parking lot was about a quarter full, which suited him perfectly. Not enough people to be crowded, and have someone recognize him in person, and not so few people he stood out on surveillance cameras. As tempting as it was to go out back and set fire to the dumpsters, he took a deep breath and clenched his hands, and went in to shop.

It had been a long time since he and Snart had had a fight this bad, especially over nonsense like this. Usually, they punched it out and were done, which was always Mick's preferred style of fighting. There was no reasoning with Snart when he was like this. Mick just had to wait it out, but he could always try to stack the cards in his favor.

He picked up some groceries. Snart had chosen a safehouse with a small break room in the back, including a kitchen. Nothing extravagant, but an actual stove and oven instead of a microwave, which was always a plus in Mick's book. Egg, bacon, sausages, bread, butter, cheese, coffee, beer. The tiny fridge wasn't enough for a full chicken, but some chicken breasts could work. Rice, some peppers, onion and garlic, lemon, yoghurt, chickpeas in a can, cumin and coriander. He considered cilantro, but the idea was to make Snart less mad, not more. The fresh vegetables weren't fresh enough to catch the eye of his inner farmboy self, so he skipped them.

He walked past the baking isle, and thought about Snart's sweet tooth. When he'd been a snot-nosed gangly kid back in juvie, he'd do almost anything for lemon muffins. They'd usually get them once or twice a month. Dry, boring things, wrapped in plastic. Mick always saved his, and traded them for favors from Snart.

Mick wasn’t much for baking, but he could do better than the state of Missouri. He picked up a muffin mix and some paper muffin cups. They didn’t have muffin pans at the safehouse, but he’d make do by doubling up on the cups. He decided to splurge on a tube of plain icing, too. If he was baking apology muffins, better go all out.

In line for the registers, he picked up three paperback romances. The safehouse had been boring, and boring didn’t sit well with either of them, even if Snart handled it better.

When he got back, the warehouse was silent, dark and empty. Not surprising. If his partner was out sulking, he should be back just in time for dinner.

He made a spice and lemon marinade, and rubbed the chicken breasts. While the chicken was marinating, he baked the muffins, with a few alterations from the suggestions on the box. Yoghurt instead of water, real melted butter instead of oil, an extra egg, some lemon juice and zest. He tasted the batter, and it was delicious. When the muffins were done, he set them to cool, and put the chicken in the oven. He cooked rice, and fried veggies, onion and garlic with the chickpeas. A little bit of plain yoghurt for sauce. They’d have enough for at least two more meals, three if they filled up on rice. But no squirrelling for this one meal.

The door slammed, and his partner walked through. Mick kept quiet, knowing that the scent of food would lure him in here.

"Mick," he said, from where he was leaning dramatically on the door jamb, looking everywhere but at Mick. It was a considerably softer tone this time.

"Dinner's ready, boss," Mick said, serving up two plates. They ate in silence, not looking at each other. Afterwards, Mick took the plates to the sink, and iced three muffins. He took a plain one for himself, that’d be sweet enough for his tastes.

When he put the plate with the three muffins in front of his partner, Len finally looked at him.

"Sorry. I’ve been a dick."

"Yeah, 'n' I’ve been an idiot. What a team we make, partner."

"Wouldn’t have it any other way, partner."


End file.
